Re-take
by jejeje117
Summary: And if Tony Stark was not the man he was believed to be?
1. disclaimer

Disclaimer: i do not own any inspiration for this story, or any characters/images used. with spelling/grammar/other mistakes, i'll check as best i can before uploading, and correct what's left when the story is completed. yes, i have realised there's a missing 'm' in 'green room'


	2. Chapter 1

It takes more than a couple of shots to get Tony stark past the piont of sobriety, in fact, even kegs of Natasha's vodka couldn't even make him tipsy. He found out at sixteen, after a particularly wild party, that no amount of alcohol could bring him to the level of drunkenness that his classmates achieved. Still, it was interesting, what you learned when everyone believed you to be wasted, and no-one, not even Pepper, had seen through the act yet.

It wasn't that difficult to figure out why he stayed sober, either, it was just not something he ever shared, or even aknowledged-the shrink would call it denial. The first time it had happened he had been around seven. His father had been screaming at his mother about her undiluted russian heritage, her secrets, the blood on her hands-and then Howard Stark, the man who could disarm even the wittiest politician or reporter with mere words, had resorted to fists. Was it really that suprising that Tony had done his best to remain unnoticed, and accidentally sunk through the floor? was it wrong that he has disappeared from the lab he'd sunk in to (because little idiots weren't allowed near a genius's work) and simultaneously reappeared in his bedroom.

Maria Stark had been no fool, and even half-dead she had paid close attention to her son, made sure he was not the target of her bastard of a husband's rage. She kept her incredibly intelligent child occupied as best she could with lessons in Russian, Cantonese, Farsi, German, Spanish, Italian, Latin-and when he was fluent, and in danger of becoming a victim of his father's never-ending rage, she moved on to combat. Was it really that strange, her being trained herself in Espionage and Assassination, that her knowledge in those fields was also passed on?

But still, Tony cannot bring himself to hurt his father, and his resentment of his mutation grows day by day, so she encourages the talents, integrates the teleportation and phasing into his training. She is paranoid about his safety, it is her top priority-and her own situation is irrelevant. She is thirty-two when she is taken hostage. Tony is the one to rescue her, and she is distraught. She has indirectly made her son a murderer at nine, younger than even graduates of the red room, who kill at twelve.

She sees Tony leaving on the bad days, sees him aqcuire greivous injuries without explanation, and his answer is that his aptitude for maths, physics, mechanics, engineering-none of it is enough to gain his fathers approval, and they shall find out when he has done what is required and gained that conditional love. He is to young to know what he is really doing, too young to understand guilt, regret, depression-and she dreads the day he realises how much red his ledger has been stained with. 'The merchant of death' is mentioned by some, and she hears of it, and realises that while she is dripping with the blood of her own enemies, it is nothing in comparison to her son.

At Forty, Tony is so smothered by that guilt that he's developed one of the worst coping mechanisms in existance. He forces the problematic emotions to the back of his mind, along with anything that triggers it, and on good days, he csan cope. He knows himself intimately, the variables are all controlled.

But outside forces? extraneous variables? He cannot account for them, cannot stop his reaction to them, and with such shitty teammates-he relapses as privately as possible, so often that it stops him sleeping and eating, most days even drinking.

Ironically enough, it's while he's feigning a drunken stupor that he hears it-the final nail in the coffin, or so he thinks. The Capsicle he expected, and Clint is only listening-not contributing, but Bruce? Betrayal is not so much a trigger as a catalyst, so he waits, silent sans the slurred incoherant sentences he puntuates with groans, just to keep them in the dark, as they deserve to be.

"Howard's son-his most prized creation, dragging his name through the mud! How dare he? To even think to present himself before me in such a disgraceful state-Fury was right when he condoned the man!"

"For god's sake, cap, keep it down! "

"you loathe him more than i do!"

"He's keeping me employed, wouldn't do to have me fired."

"And who's going to report you? Not a single person in this building has his back-not even his own teammates, that's how much of a-a-"

"Dirty son of a bitch he is, yes, we know. But JARVIS isn't a live being."

"You've hacked that thing once, do it again-"

And then Tony is gone, out of earshot, having teleported for the first time in fifteen years. The veil between Tony Stark: Iron man and Tony Stark: merchant of death has been ripped away, his vision is tinted red. It takes seconds to destroy the cap's room, and less time than that to take out Bruce's lab and nap room. He blows up the green room, the trophy room even a couple of bathrooms when he sees the tubs he's uninstalled six times now (which one of the two is at fault?) before arms are around him.

It's Natasha, and it's clear to her that by some miracle the spoilt genious is stone cold sober and capable if destroying half his house with his bare hands, as well as an enraged mutant. She doesn't question it, she can see that his expression is one she herself has worn on many occasions, so she employs her limited experience in sentimental matters. She whispers in Russian, only slightly stunned when he replies in kind-with a voice so anguishes she wonders how Pepper's coped, and then she realises that a) the PA was fired after the nuke fiasco, and b) nobody's ever seen Tony in such a state.

~I don't think the house can survive your temper.~

~I own it. It's mine to destroy~

Fluent-where has he picked it up?

~And all of us who live here?~

~Can leave at my whim~

~What has happened to change your mind?~

~My teammates-liars and filth and no good rotten Bastards!~

~Not all of us~

~not you, unless i am ignorant of your true alliegences-~

~Which you aren't. And Thor? Clint? Bruce?~

~Thor is too foreign to pick a side, clint said nothing in my defence, and Banner can go hang himself!~

~The Hulk likes you, surely thats an indication-~

~The Hulk can smell it-the blood i've spilt, the ease with which i can kill him~

~And yet he doesn't care for me?~

~you have murdered for others,i have killed others under my own employment~

~you are not an assassin!~

His laugh was bitter and mocking, and it came to her then-his mother, the legendary 'widow-maker', the inspiration for the whole red room operation. How could she not have passed on her skills? how could he not have been tempted to use them as a child-a child with one hell of a vendetta against the world.

~if i am, as i seem to be, mistaken, then allow me to know your number, and judge your ledger-it's clearly too personal an issue for you to assess yourself.~

~there were so many of them-political enemies, rival businessmen, and you cannot imagine how many they employed. it was not enough to kill one man, i had to target any he associated himself with. i had no limits, no guidelines, only past experience-and i knew that total eradication worked, so long as my father did not become suspect. there's fifteen years worth of murder to account for-not including the damage my weapons dealt.~

~hundreds?~

~thousands~

~Asking you to recount that is cruel-i'll stop.~

~it is atonement. One tenth, one hundredth of the karma i should have incurred.~

~And the torture in Afghanistan didn't count?~

~i have had worse.~

~then, as punishment, you have to tell each of us exactly how you feel-about us, not you. i wouldn't dream of asking you to surrender you pride to the captain~

He snickered, anticipation dancing in his eyes.

(AN: okay, so maybe the spelling mistakes were too annoying to ignore...)


	3. Chapter 3

Tony watched disinterestedly as his teammates converged in the conference room, his hand on the glock at his hip. They couldn't know that behind that expressionless mask lurked a bitterness and resentment that rivalled Loki's-except he was experienced enough to do something productive (and not downright ludicrous) with it. Hesitantly, he took a step forward, and then another, and another. He let his hands rest on the back of his chair as hereached it, close enough to Natasha to hear her mutter under her breath.

~Baby steps.~

Of course, he had to tackle Thor first. The God of thunder was an unknown, and unpredictable elements needed taking care of. The giant was, although the most physically intimidating, not as much of a threat as others. The millionaire mentally made plans A through to Y, and set about separating Thor from the assholes.

The son of Odin was somewhat taken aback when he laid eyes on the man of iron, unable to pinpoint the psychological differences, but perfectly aware of everything else. The mortal was a good few inches taller, his goatee and hairy just that little bit neater, but it was his eyes that betrayed him the most. The once warm shallow brown pools were practically onyx, cold and detached as he surveyed the group.

When Thor found himself in the kitchen, faced with the prospect of a one to one conversation with the stranger Stark had become, he supressed the trepidation that poisoned his thoughts and squared his shoulders.

"What is wrong, man of iron. How have I offended you?"

The response was a raised eyebrow.

"What makes you think that it's your fault?"

"Why else would you feel the need to consult with me?"

"I thought you knew of the issue already, and I wanted to know which side you stood on."

"An arguement?"

"I suppose you could say that-more of a mutiny, actually."

"Who opposes you? What is the cause of the disagreement?"

"Me, my existence is the cause. Bruce is the instigator, Steve the catalyst. Only Natasha is with me."

"How does your existence upset them?"

"I'm not like my father. My attitude rankles them."

"Fear not, I have met far more loathesome people than yourself. They have no valid reason to conspire against you, and my father has instilled in me the hard way that without admirable cause, one cannot realise ambition. I have also inherited his sense of justice, and so if you will allow me, I will go and find out for myself."

Tony was stunned enough to pause before turning to turn off the kettle, unable to hide the ignored? Treated as a leper? He was dirty, defiled, the worst kind of murderer, not even his mother had trusted his tongue. Natasha, even, what had prompted her to believe in and comfort him? Once again disgusted with himself, he re-examined the microwave. Surely there'd be something to fix in such a disturbingly old contraption?

It was sickeningly nice, he mused, to come face to face with an impartial alien instilled with a functional moral compass. He hadn't been able to differentiate between blsck and white for a long time.


	4. Chapter 4

Friday is when, for the first time, Tony tries to put a name to the emotions he is confronted with when he faces the ruins of his labratories. There is frustration, of that he is certain, but the rest is too much of a mess to easily understant. The restlessness resurfaced (has Thor come to a conclusion yet) and he quashes it. If the God does actually decide to back him up, he needs to know how he can follow Natasha's instructions. He needed to be brutally honest, but also tactful and not too abrasive.

~You're thinking about it too much~

He took a moment to reply, unwilling to contrast her low, refined voice with his own, but he reminded himself that she wanted to hear what he had to say.

~I have to.~

~Then think about it differently. With physics, you never rule out a theory without proof that it is wrong. On Asgard they have different customs, alien etiquette, and therefore you cannot say that adressing the situation bluntly would have an undesirable affect.~

~You've seen how he looks at Fury.~

~Fury feels that being disliked is part of his job description, he goes out of his way to meet that criteria.~

~And I don't?~

~No, they're just terrible at understanding sarcasm.~

~You're getting off-topic.~

~Is that such a bad thing? Say what you think you need to, not what you think is demanded of you.~

~Easy for you to say.~

Natasha glanced back at him, a smirk on her face, and then returned to appraising the wreckage.

~You really did a number on this, I'm impressed. A few more hits and you'd have taken out all of the support.~

It caught up to him again, his guilt and shame at presenting himself to her as a destructive psychopath, and abruptly he was on his knees ready to apologise.

~We all have bad days, Tony, and you had more reason than most to need to break things. Maybe one day it'll be me in your position-I'd like to think you'd repay the favour.~

~My kind of people don't deal in favours, Natasha.~

~Past tense, Tony. You've made yourself in to a new man, I doubt you could completely undo all of that conditioning if you tried.~

~You never know. It's nice to have the excuse handy.~

~I'd like to see that. So, who's on the list after Thor?~

~Clint.~

~I wish you luck-and Tony? Break it to him gently, okay? He's a good man, but he's got history. He finds it easier to sympathise with soldiers than billionaire genius'. If he's this indecisive, he's definitely on your side.~

AN: sorry, heavy on the dialogue. Trying to get back into the swing of things.


	5. Chapter 5

And...wow my writing style has taken a turn for the worst. My English teacher (lit,as) basically tore apart my magazine piece and a Gatsby essay in front of the entire class. I'm..kind of furious actually. Usually i'm just all depressed and accepting, but she just...I hate her, she picks favourites, and has so far spent an entire week on the colours used in one of Gatsby's parties. Why do I bother?

Anyway, hopefully I'll stay in this productive mood for a while, and get a chance to redevelop my old style. These chapters aren't going to fit together seamlessly, and I can't be sure that they'll make sense (this is _my _head we're talking about here) but I can try. I'm going to work in more and more description as I go, and try and make the new dynamics of the team clear. Will some kind of epic fight suffice? I've been inspired by the three-hour long "man of steel" (I missed my bus. Why couldn't Zod just get on with dying? There were so many opportunities).


	6. an2

This fic was kind of impulsive, not at all planned, and I write as I get ideas. I have had a lot of ideas, none of which relate to the avengers, and I'm really not enjoying writing it. There's no spark, no interest, and the grammar and actual story itself pales in comparison to other fics I've read. I'm currently captivated by assassins creed and league of legends, and although I'm writing about them I don't plan to post until I feel that I've done my ideas justice. Retake is the same, I'm going to wait until my lol-obsessed phase is over, and put up a new chapter when I'm ready, so I won't discontinue it. There may be a few short stories because the idea of committing to a lengthy fic is kind of intimidating. Thank's for all the positive reviews, I really don't deserve them. If you play league of legends, my username is also jejeje117.


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